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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722642">I know you are uncomfortable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexZorlok/pseuds/AlexZorlok'>AlexZorlok</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mystic Messenger (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>707 | Choi Luciel's Route, Missing Scene, Other, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:33:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexZorlok/pseuds/AlexZorlok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He's sitting in the corner of her bedroom now, with his back turned to her.</p><p>She wants to say 'I'm sorry', but it's already what he has been saying for the past couple of days.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I know you are uncomfortable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm replaying some mystic messenger these days, so here's this. Takes place in the evening of Day 7, and based on the 9pm outgoing call.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The weird thing about living alone in an apartment is that you don’t notice how quiet it is until you are not alone in there anymore. And it’s still quiet. Even with the loudest person you know in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that’s how she feels about the situation right now, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Living here has been weird, but it hasn’t been bad, per se. She’s had the chatrooms, and all the new friends in RFA to make her less lonely. She called her parents home just to check how things are going someplace that somehow feels more distant now just for being less mysterious. She has been watching some TV — including their favourite culinary show, — and there is a fair share of books of all kinds on the shelves, some about photography, or about other pieces of art.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been fun, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been quiet, too, on her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she’s had Seven, laughing in the chatrooms, or watching through the CCTV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She told him she loved him, just a few hours ago. She was still in the grasp of the hacker — Saeran? — then, and in the fit of fear, and confusion, and adrenalin, she thought that if something was bound to happen, like if he was going to take her, or the apartment was going to blow up, then maybe she should at least have her own dramatic movie moment, with the love confession, and everything that follows, if it does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not to say that she said it just for the sake of it— She loves him. His jokes, and his kindness, and his almost childlike desire to help people. Still, she almost feels guilty for saying that, now— now that he is sitting in the corner of her new bedroom, with a pile of technical equipment, so much of it that she wouldn’t even be able to name it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he’s sitting here just a few meters away, with his back to her, and his red hair is much brighter in real life than she would have expected. He’s here, and he’s real, and his voice is more vibrant, and there are stars in his eyes. Her super-reliable supergenius space superhero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been weird, living here. All alone, with neighbors who she doesn’t know, trying and failing not to get too friendly with the local shop clerk because she doesn’t know if she’ll be here long enough to become a regular. It’s even weirder now that there is someone sitting just a few meters away, but who won’t even look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” she whispers, then cringes at herself. It’s whispered loud enough in the quiet of the room that he could probably hear her. People probably wouldn’t when they are so occupied with work, but she knows that he would, considering he used to find it in him to watch her movements on CCTV, every 2.25 seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t flinch, though. The room is quiet, but it isn’t quite— there is the constant noise of Seven’s keyboard, not to mention the beating of her own heart, which is kind of cliche, and not an actual noise in the room, but it still occupies her ears. It’s the weird kind of quiet, the one that would deafen even the TV if she were to turn it on, and it doesn’t make any sense, but she almost misses the ringing of Seven’s phone in all of that quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you calling me for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… You wouldn’t look at me, so I thought…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stupid. He’s working, and she knows that he’s stressed, and she knows that there is a life-threatening deadline chasing after him, and she knows that his thoughts must be raging because of his twin brother situation, whatever that one might mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she loves him, and it’s stupid. And it’s stupid that her presence here doesn’t bring him any relief, but that it just as well wouldn’t help if she went away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to say ‘I’m sorry’, but he’s said plenty of those on his own in these past couple of days, so that’s not helping either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I know that you are uncomfortable—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head at that, which is meaningless, because his back is still turned to her, but he does say that he can sense her movements, so she somewhat hopes that he can sense this, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t speak through the phone. He’s close enough that hearing his voice from two different directions would just be awkward. Seven has his phone pressed to his ear, however. Maybe because she’s still whispering instead of speaking up, or maybe because it helps him pretend that they’re not actually in the same room, without her actually having to go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And wear a jacket, you’ll get cold—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She almost believed him when he said that he’s different, that it’s easy for people like him to fake themselves online. She imagined meeting him quite a few times— on every occasion that she had to answer an email and think about how the party would go. She would imagine his bright smile, and his laughter, and maybe him ruffling her hair, or her ruffling his, if he isn’t too tall for her to reach on tiptoes. She never imagined the quiet, and depressed, and serious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s here now, almost quite within her reach, and he won’t look at her, but he still picked up the phone. Worrying about her. Putting her safety and comfort among his worries despite all of the hackers, and secret agencies, and, apparently, bombs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s Seven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said ‘I love you’ too soon, but she wasn’t lying.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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